


Then & Now

by iceshade



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Criminal husbands, Dubious Science, Fluff, Hurt Len, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Len is a little shit, M/M, Mpreg, Sinnamon Roll Leonard Snart, Thoughts of Self-harm, Time Skips, the first half is all MAKE LEN SUFFER, the second half is all FUCKING COLDWAVE FEELS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 14:05:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6707287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceshade/pseuds/iceshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His relationship with Mick is on the rocks, and Len has no idea where to begin fixing it. Perfect time to wind up with a bun in the oven, no?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then & Now

**Author's Note:**

> ...I can't believe I wrote mpreg (also, this was written before watching 1x13)  
>  **TRIGGER WARNING:** mentions of violence towards the unborn

Len grimaced as he was unable to close yet another pair of pants. That was the problem with having a wardrobe that was mostly tight and form-fitting, it didn't take big changes to make it unwearable. And what was happening to Len was a very, very big change. He was fucking pregnant.

It was Mick's, of course. So, like an over emotional _idiot_ , he'd decided to keep it to retain something of his former partner. Mick liked to say that the man they used to know was dead. He couldn't even blame his decision on hormones, because he hadn't been pregnant for very long when he'd found out. Gideon was efficient like that; even if she couldn't figure out _how_ exactly he had been able to get pregnant in the first place. There was also the fact that neither Gideon nor Rip were positive they could safely remove the fetus at this point, either. "Safely," in this case meaning, "without causing Len to hemorrhage and die."

His hand unconsciously found it's way to his belly, which at approximately four months had begun to show under his clothes. It seemed like he'd gone to sleep still thin and woken up to a balloon under his skin. He didn't know how much longer he'd be able to keep it a secret; he was either going to have to tell Mick soon or leave the Waverider. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes at the thought of Mick and their baby. He didn't know what would be worse: if Mick rejected it or if Mick didn't care at all.

What the fuck was he doing? He wasn't fit to be a parent, much less a single one. Len flopped down on his bed, wincing as his waistband pinched, and contemplated his life choices. It was times like this when he wanted to just cut the little parasite out by himself. He was also aware in the back of his mind, that as soon as the anger and hopelessness faded, he would end up curled up in the fetal position, crying, because he'd thought about harming Mick's baby. Talk about taking home a really memorable souvenir.

What Len could _really_ use right about now was a hard drink, but due to his predicament, one of his preferred methods of coping was out. There's an idea; maybe he should just wait and see how long it took Mick (or any of the others, considering Mick wasn't exactly acknowledging him at the moment) to notice that he'd stopped drinking.

"This might be all I have left of Mick," he whispered to himself in the empty room. It had become his mantra over the last couple of months when he was feeling either particularly hostile towards the fetus or hopeless with regards to him and Mick, and he needed to kick his ass in gear. So far, it seemed to be working.

Okay. He was going get up now. He was going to go to Gideon to requisition some new pants, and then he was going to paste a smirk on his face and pretend everything was fine. The team would probably be going over the newest way Rip had planned to screw with the timeline and—

_Nope, scratch that,_ Len thought as he sat up. The movement had been enough to make his stomach roll, and he clapped a hand over his mouth. He was going to go puke first, and then do all that other stuff. Because _of course_ his morning sickness would extend past the typical first trimester. He didn't need the universe to remind him he made bad choices, but it did anyways; it was considerate like that.

* * *

 

Len did a double-take as he glanced at himself in the full-length mirror. He was already showing. Intellectually, he'd known this—his pants had started getting tighter at the waistband a few weeks ago—but it was otherwise impossible to tell when he was dressed. But now, even clad only in boxers and a small t-shirt, (Len no longer slept completely naked because he never knew when inquisitive little feet would come a-knocking) there was an outward curve to his stomach. It was slight, but it was visible.

Len smiled, after staring at his reflection dumbstruck for a long moment. He rucked his t-shirt up to his armpits to see the bump better. This time he was showing even earlier in the pregnancy, but his dismay at the loss of his figure was tempered by the happiness he felt at seeing the growing proof of their baby. It wasn't like he needed to make a quick escape from the cops at any given time anymore, but running around after a 4 year-old did require some flexibility. Literally, sometimes. Almost everything about this pregnancy was different from the first—better, actually—number one on the list being the supportive presence of his partner.

As if merely thinking about the man had summoned him, Mick came up behind him and pressed himself against Len's back. Warm hands came around his waist to cup the gentle swell, and a stubbly chin rested on Len's shoulder. Len leaned back into Mick's embrace, savoring the warmth that the man radiated.

"Admiring your handiwork?" He asked, eyes meeting Mick's in the mirror.

Mick hummed his agreement. "No morning sickness today?"

"Not yet. Laila?"

"Watching cartoons and eating breakfast," Mick replied, answering the unspoken question about their daughter. He rubbed his thumbs along the curve of Len's belly. "Does your ego need stroking 'cause of this?"

"You did not just call attention to a pregnant person's growing body," Len deadpanned. He could feel his dick chubbing up in his boxers at Mick's ministrations. His belly was sensitive when he was pregnant, and the calluses on Mick's hands, combined with his proximity, were very stimulating.

Mick pressed a kiss to the junction between Len's neck and shoulder before nipping at the muscle. "Well you know I've never claimed to be the rational one between us."

"True." Len stilled Mick's fingers, pulling his shirt back down and covering Mick's hands with his own. "But I have something else not my ego that you can stroke," he said with a smirk.

"Laila could walk in on us, Len. Especially since she knows we're both awake."

"Oh. Okay, I see how it is." The smirk dropped from Len's face, and his whole body seemed to droop as he looked at his feet. "You don't want me anymore now that I'm fat and ugly."

"Len—?" Mick had no idea what had just happened. One second he and Len were bantering, and now it looked like his partner was about to start sobbing. Hormones weren't supposed to be that bad, were they? "C'mon Lenny, you know that's not true. I could be dead and still want you. Please, don't cry."

"No I—I get it," Len said, his voice cracking, "you don't h—have to lie for me."

_Shit._ Mick could feel Len's shoulders start to shake, and was that a sniffle? "I'm sorry, let me make it up to you, Lenny, please. Just tell me what to do. Anything." He turned Len around to face him, and Len couldn't hold his laughter in any longer.

He finally wore himself out, and released one of Mick's arms—which he had grabbed to keep himself standing—to wipe away the tears from his eyes. Len knew he probably shouldn't screw with Mick so much; he knew Mick loved him, but he still had those deep-seated fears from his last pregnancy, when Mick was still Chronos, that the man would leave him and their daughter. At least this way it wouldn't be out of nowhere if Mick just up and left them in response. But Len and Mick had been together long enough that he could tell when Len's insecurities were rearing their heads—even if Len himself couldn't.

"So you'll do _'anything'_?"

"Hm, I think you misheard me," Mick said exaggeratedly, wrapping his arms around Len and enfolding him in a hug. "Did I say 'anything'? Nah, I must have meant 'you should give me a blow job.' That sounds more accurate."

Len smiled as he pressed his face into the hard muscle of his partner's chest, and brought his own arms up to return the hug. Yeah, they were going to be okay, (and he did love giving Mick head). In a few months, there would be another baby Rory-Snart to love, but right now Mick still owed him some stroking.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah... I kinda just handwaved the whole "how tf did Len get pregnant?" thing. #sorrynotsorry  
> Also check out [my tumblr](http://ecofriendlylovepod.tumblr.com/) for more Coldwave stuff, like liveblogging.  
> (and [my primary one](http://fyeahhipsterdoctor.tumblr.com/), because I didn't know what I was doing when I signed up for that site)


End file.
